Tuesday, 20 December 2011

Saturday, 12 November 2011

Tuesday, 8 November 2011

So one time I sat around like a stupid student drinking beer with my dear friend Alex. We played Worms and listened to people reading difficult poetry. It is actually a really happy memory and a really sad one. I miss him a lot today. R.I.C... Anyway, we got onto listening to Karl Waugh's album 'Concrete Mother London', and somehow ended up listening to Sean Bonney reading 'The Commons' at the same time. Though the two things seem pretty disparate there is a connection in their tone. Both are semblances of negative energy dragged through cityscapes, very lonely, fragmented and alienated. Both disorienting and relentless in their approach (attack). I've finally got round to putting them together, and I am rather pleased with the outcome. Please have a listen.

Thursday, 17 March 2011

Saturday, 26 February 2011

Staring out of long parks and forty four windows opposite where only the bravest show their heads. I’m asking how magic projections can answerlocalised weather systems, sayingnothing so obvious as I’d like.

Today is softened, and in a roundabout kindof way the starlings are demonstrating illusionary deceit/ where to go this morning in a streetand search for a face called ‘Rose’, to fix

these physical incarnations to kindly lids, they never peered acrossour border/ I’d like to share that with you.This is no longer an empty hemisphere

but a rich trip of silence that we drive out of in giggling secret and map somehow blind alongto the song along to the song which can’t really matter, this flattery tasteslight and doesn’t carry seismic impact.

I can’t hold this forever, but do my best, and write ‘plinky plonkymusic’, not so well. We can both hear an owl butI had it first/ and the evening blankets me quicker, worse

off to be confined in weak plaster again but all thatis innocuous, and we play Houdini, ineluctably. It issublime at the distance I stare longingly back.Crammed into one small space the word is purple andother common ground/ stood on a mud bank riveted to sounds

that make so much sense and wonderfully barrel on.Remember how fine it was to watch a crocus trouble soil?Fixed side by side in half blankets you worry over grinding teeth who give the game away, and we sleep in snatches.

It’s no wonder you came panicking down andhow to be grateful? I would have taken your hand or let you fallinto this open neck. Always asking in muted milesif we can’t elope at this late stage?